


Slashed

by blueberryfallout



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Ares - Freeform, Clarisse Is Not An Idiot, F/F, Facial Scars, Love at First Sight, Mild Hazing, Nemesis - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2018-12-16 09:55:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11826321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueberryfallout/pseuds/blueberryfallout
Summary: Ares’s children often end up with Aphrodite’s; not being pretty themselves, the children of Ares have a hard time resisting beauty. Clarisse never has. She’s stronger than the others, favored more by Ares even though he refuses to admit it. She doesn’t hate the children of Aphrodite, they just don’t interest her. Since the wars have ended, mostly she just wants peace. Mostly, she just wants to be alone.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> man i know no one's gonna read this. so one of the percy jackson movies came on tv, i ended up looking up fanfic for it, then i ended up buying and rereading all the books, then i remembered how gay i am for clarisse, then i wrote this. it's a vicious cycle, folks

The new camper is seventeen, old to have been out on her own, and deeply asleep; her mouth is a ruin of three ragged scars, cutting through to her lip in a straight line, one in a diagonal slice from her cheek to her chin. All of them are fresh.

“She causes discord whenever she speaks,” her father screams, his hands covered in his daughter’s blood. The knife he used is buried in his shoulder, a sign that she fought back. “I had to shut her up somehow!” A son of Apollo, his mouth tight, knocks the father out with one blow. 

Now, the new girl lies sleeping. One of Morpheus’s sons put his hand to her face when she started howling, crawling towards her father as blood drooled from her lips. If they weren’t already sure she was a half-blood, her curses were in Ancient Greek. They brought her to the infirmary and left her here; Clarisse volunteered to guard her. She always volunteers to watch new campers, trying to make up for the bully she used to be. 

The new girl’s skin, Clarisse notices, is mottled, patches of white against the darker shade she was born with. Vitiligo. Her white hair is shorn down in tight curls against her skull. Chiron is coming down the hallway; Clarisse can hear the clip clop of his hooves. He peeks into the room, a fatherly smile already on his face. Clarisse doesn’t find him as reassuring as some of the others, but she still likes him. She nods back. 

“How is she doing?” he asks, examining new girl’s scarred face. 

“We fed her some ambrosia. She’ll be fine.”

“Physically,” Chiron murmurs, and Clarisse can tell it’s not for her ears. 

“Who do you think her parent is?” 

“Ares, maybe,” Chiron says, and Clarisse feels an unexpected stab of disappointment. Usually she’s excited to have a new sibling. Somehow, she doesn’t want this girl to be related. “Or Eris, or one of the Amphillogiai,” he continues. That’s a long list. “Maybe we’ll never know.” She could end up as an undetermined in Hermes’ cabin for the rest of her life. 

“Well, I’ll watch over her,” Clarisse says gruffly, shifting so her spear lays across her knees. The new girl twitches, wincing, her cut up mouth opening in a wail. Clarisse, suddenly, feels like she did when she was young, wanting to fight everyone, bristling. She wants to hunt her father down, wants to punish him for all the times he belittled her. She wants to find Percy Jackson and fight him for embarrassing her all those years ago. The feeling is strong. Those kinds of feelings are worse around her father, though, so Clarisse shakes her head as Chiron twitches his tail. “Definitely some kind of discord deity,” he decides. She can only nod.  
+  
+  
As soon as the new girl’s eyes flutter open, she’s determined; a broken wheel shimmers over her head. The symbol of Nemesis. Clarisse thinks of Ethan Nakamura and winces. “Welcome to Camp Half-Blood, daughter of Nemesis,” Chiron says kindly, clapping her on the shoulder. 

The new girl licks at her cracked lips, either not noticing or refusing to show any pain. Clarisse appreciates that. She hates whiners. “Did my mom send me here?” At their silence, she continues, “Nemesis?”

“You know her?” 

“She visits me in my dreams,” the girl confesses, her eyes flickering to Clarisse and back. “Teaches me how to get even. My dad hates it.” 

“You never have to go back to your father again,” Chiron promises.

“Dad was weak. I will have my revenge,” she swears; a chill brushes Clarisse’s spine. The promise of a demigod is no small thing. “Mom gave me these,” she continues, tapping the black studs in her eyebrow. “They let me see the balance in people. Dad was more bad then good.” Her eyes sweep from Chiron to Clarisse in an assessing glance. “You two are alright.”

“What’s your name?” Chiron asks, tapping a hoof. New girl must talk to her mom a lot, because she takes even that in stride.

“My father named me Kalila,” she announces proudly. “It means beloved.” Clarisse could say something about how ironic that name is, but Kalila looks fragile enough. Too much more cruelty, and she might crack apart. 

“Do you know where you are?” Chiron asks as Kalila looks past him to watch Clarisse, whose grip tightens on her spear. 

“I’m in a hospital room with a horse-man and a soldier,” she guesses, which pleases Clarisse. She’s only ever wanted to be known as a soldier.

“You’re in a safe place. A camp, for people like you,” Chiron responds. “For children of the gods.” 

“Who’s your mom?” Kalila asks, gesturing at Clarisse. 

“Dad. Ares,” Clarisse tells her, feeling the stab of pride she always feels saying his name. 

“Oh,” Kalila says, disinterested. Still, her eyes track over Clarisse’s body, at the breadth of her shoulders, where her shorts are too small to handle her thighs. Clarisse flushes and crosses her legs, annoyed by her nervousness. “What happens now?” 

“Well, right now it’s dinner time. Would you like to come eat with us?” Kalila takes his offered hand and steps from her bed, her movement shaky at first but quickly confident. She keeps touching her face, tracing along the thick scars there. She’ll get used to them. Clarisse has seen demigods recover from missing limbs, torn out eyes, and worse. She’ll be fine.  
+  
As soon as they step outside all eyes are on them. Nymphs melt from the trees to stare, a naiad emerges from the water, droplets pouring down her blue skin, to throw them a wink and a wave. The entire camp, kids and adults alike, gather round to watch. 

“Look at her _face_ ,” someone from Aphrodite’s cabin says, horrified. There’s nothing worse for a child of Aphrodite than stolen beauty. Kalila flinches, her hand ghosting towards her mouth then away, too proud to hide. Clarisse admires that.

She guides her towards the eating pavilion, where Nemesis’s table hasn’t been sat at in years. “That’s your mother’s table. You can give her an offering, if you wish,” Chiron tells Kalila before walking off to join the head table where Mr. D sits, frowning at everyone. A bottle of non-alcoholic beer rests near his left hand. Clarisse can’t imagine it’s doing anything to improve his mood.

Kalila turns to Clarisse, something plaintive in her eyes. “Are you sitting with me?” she asks, fiddling with the hem of her new, bright orange Camp Half-Blood shirt. 

“No, I sit with my siblings,” Clarisse explains, gesturing to the table where a half dozen of her siblings bicker and belch and yell, rough but affectionate. The only other empty tables are the Big Three’s, Hera’s, and the shining silver one that belongs to Artemis. Even Dionysus has Pollux next to him, the two of them knocking their drinks together.

“So I sit alone,” Kalila says dully. Clarisse gets the impression she’s used to being alone as the girl heads off for Nemesis’s plain ebony table, a broken wheel jutting from either end. She sits there in silence as the others file in, still staring. The scars on her face only seem worse in this bright light, garish and pink. Ambrosia can heal wounds. It doesn’t stop them from scarring. Kalila sits alone at her mother’s table, hand over her mouth. Clarisse feels for her, but her youngest sibling, Buddy, has started trying to cut his meat with an axe, so she has to turn her attention to that.  
+  
+  
+  
Clarisse doesn’t see Kalila go into her lonely cabin, doesn’t see her at all for the next few days. Until it’s time to climb the rock wall, and Kalila is there watching, her attention razor sharp. Unnoticed, Clarisse watches her. She truly is a child of Nemesis, surly, snappy, thick brows drawn together over narrow black eyes. Stunning though, in her own chiaroscuro way. The skin, that snow white hair, her features sharp. Clarisse has seen others cut themselves on the angles of her, on her nasty temper. 

Any camp hazing was quickly stopped when every bully received a personal revenge; spiders in the bed of a daughter of Athena, crushed makeup for a son of Aphrodite, a son of Hephaestus who found all his tools broken beyond repair. It doesn’t do to mess with the daughter of the vengeance goddess, clearly. 

The first person to almost reach the top is one of Clarisse’s siblings, Xing, who preemptively raises her hands in victory and is sent tumbling to the ground when the rock under her foot breaks. Clarisse looks over to where Kalila is blank faced, her fingers twisted behind her back. When Kalila sends another, annoyingly cocky son of Tyche to his doom, Clarisse can’t help but smile.  
+  
+  
+  
Clarisse is heading back from the showers one night, towel over her shoulder, when she spots Kalila sitting on the steps of her cabin, looking at the wheel over her head. She’s wearing pajamas; white t-shirt and shorts with little yellow characters on them. “Hey!” Clarisse calls, waving.

Kalila’s eyes are bleary as she nods back, concerning enough that Clarisse heads over to her, joins her on the steps. “I had a dream,” Kalila says without prompting, failing to stifle a yawn. Her scars stretch grotesquely, pulling at the skin around her mouth. Clarisse is fascinated; the children of Ares may love beauty, but they know ruin best. “My mother says I had to lose something to gain this camp.” She rests her head on her knees, turning her head to look at Clarisse. “Is it worth it?”

Clarisse has spent most of her life at Camp Half-Blood, safe within its borders. She knows the cabins and the woods and the strawberry fields like the back of her hand. It’s home, more than her mother’s ever was. “I think so,” she says honestly. Kalila squints at her, the studs in her eyebrow glinting. Clarisse feels another wave of that rage wash over her, that need to get revenge at any cost. She shakes the feeling away. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?” Kalila asks, doe-eyed and innocent. 

“Stop trying to make me angry so I’ll spit out the truth or something.” 

“You can tell when I do that?” Kalila asks with honest surprise, uncurling from her ball. Her legs are long and lean, distracting enough to Clarisse that she takes a second to answer the question.

“Yeah, I can. My dad is the god of _war_. I can always tell when someone’s trying to cause conflict.” Usually Clarisse or her siblings are the ones causing it, but she can still tell. 

“I’m…I’m sorry,” Kalila says, and Clarisse wonders if this is the first time she’s ever truly apologized. “I’m just frustrated.”

Clarisse puts Maimer down in the dirt so it stands up straight, takes Kalila’s hand in hers. Her fingers look tiny in Clarisse’s meaty palm, her fingernails bitten to the quick. “Look, it can suck to be a demigod. But it can be good here, too. We have the opportunity to be heroes!” 

She beams, proud as always, and Kalila smiles back. “You really love it here, don’t you?” 

“More than anything.” They’re staring into each other’s eyes, Clarisse’s dull brown to Kalila’s black, Kalila tilting her head just slightly. Clarisse’s eyes close as Kalila’s breath fans across her mouth, heat unfurling low in her belly.

“Do you want to kiss me, daughter of Ares?” Kalila breathes as Clarisse inhales a shaky breath. “ _Parakalo poly_ ,” Clarisse whispers, losing herself for a moment. _Please_. Their mouths meet for the briefest of seconds, Clarisse licking at the splits where Kalila’s scars cross her mouth, tasting something dark and bitter. Revenge, the most satisfying of meals. Clarisse wonders what she herself tastes like. Blood, maybe. The steel of a good sword.

Kalila draws back with an enigmatic smile. “Too much of a good thing puts the world out of balance,” she says, standing to retreat to the open door of her cabin. “Maybe you’ll get more later.” 

“Children of Ares take what they want,” Clarisse teases, taking a step forward just to see Kalila’s eyes darken. Rather than attacking, she picks up Maimer, hefts it over her shoulder. “Goodnight, Kalila.”

“Goodnight, Clarisse,” she hears behind her as she struts off into the night, grinning. The other children of Ares can have Aphrodite’s kids. Clarisse will take revenge.


	2. Warm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not that happy with this one but whatever

Clarisse has never had nightmares. She knows what PTSD is; she’s watched her siblings gasp awake from dreams of fire and blood, warriors reduced to clutching at her in the dark. It’s no shame, not now that Clarisse is older. But she’s never been afraid. She was born to be a soldier. Every time she fights, she tastes death on the back of her tongue and revels in it.

Next to her in bed, Kalila rolls over, whimpering. Her ruined mouth is open, the scars stretching, the pearl white of her teeth shining in the dark. Clarisse had to pull a lot of strings to be able to sneak into Nemesis’s cabin and stay the night; it’s worth it as she pulls Kalila to her chest, shushing into the curls of her white hair. 

“ _Echo eséna_ ,” she promises. _I have you_. The harsh, bitter feel of revenge is creeping through the room, curling Clarisse’s hands into fists. She grits her teeth against the feeling, knowing it’s just Kalila trying to defend herself from whatever haunts her dreams. As long as Kalila needs her, Clarisse will be there.  
+  
+  
+  
“I held him in my hands,” Clarisse whispers, looking down at her palms. Square, still, the nails cut short, blunt fingertips. Scarred at the knuckles. A warrior’s hands. 

“You did all you could,” Kalila swears, pressing their foreheads together. “ _Kardiá tis kardiás mou_ , you have done your best.” 

“If I had, he’d be living,” Clarisse snaps, pulling away. Kalila’s nails dig into her forearms, leaving half-moon marks. Her pale eyebrows pull together, making a wrinkle that Clarisse always wants to smooth out. Even now her hand twitches in a single, stifled try to help. 

“Clarisse…” 

Just a few years ago Clarisse would’ve continued fighting, would’ve stormed out and nursed her hurts on her own. Now, she sighs, slumping into Kalila’s side, into the warmth of her. A spindly arm snakes around her shoulder, soothes out the knotted muscles. Slowly, Clarisse lets herself breathe.  
+  
+  
+  
“Yes, of course, I’ve got you,” Clarisse promises to her newest sibling; his name is Johnny and he’s eight, a burly, red-faced little thing who came sprinting through the barriers a couple days ago followed by a couple aeternae, who were swiftly dispatched by the dragon.

He looks up at her with suspicious eyes that are the same color as Clarisse’s own, a dull brown. His armor looks ludicrous on him, hanging off his small shoulders, his sword dragging in the dirt. “Mom doesn’t let me play Capture the Flag,” he tells her. “I’m too strong.”

“You’re not stronger than us, shrimp,” Clarisse growls, bopping his shoulder. He sways back and smiles, seeming relieved by this bit of roughness. “And this Capture the Flag is like nothing you’ve ever played.” When he frowns, nervous again, she sighs. “Stay by my side, and you’ll be fine.”

He makes a quick, aborted movement, like he’s about to take her hand. Clarisse remembers her first few weeks at camp, confused, terrified, missing her mom’s collard greens and the familiar sounds of their trailer park. He might remind her, a little bit, of the sibling she recently lost. She rubs a hand over the polished surface of Johnny’s helmet, trying to reassure. His returning smile is wide and toothy.  
+  
Clarisse can hear Johnny’s heavy breathing behind her, the shifting of his sweaty palms on his sword. She tightens her grip on her own spear, glancing around the woods. Far off, she can hear the howls of the other campers, the clashing of swords.

Usually, she’d be out there herself, on the front lines, but she let Apollo’s cabin take the glory this time, so she could creep around the boundaries in a sneak attack. Their footsteps crunch against the ground, their armor clanging with every step. Ares’ children are many things, but they’re not stealthy. 

Clarisse ducks and rolls as something leaps from a tree and towards her head, howling. When she stands back up it tackles her, heavy on her chest with hands on her wrists. Clarisse blinks up at Kalila’s grinning face, through the slats of her black armor. “Got you.” 

Clarisse laughs, easily breaking her grip, reaching to tug Kalila closer so the fronts of their helmet bump. “Clever, daughter of Nemesis.” 

“You should be more careful, daughter of Ares.” 

“You’re not getting the flag!” Johnny yells, tackling Kalila off her with more strength than Clarisse would’ve imagined he possessed. Clarisse grins and watches him go. Kalila might be her girlfriend, but she can take a few hits from an eight year old.

In their struggle the helmets come off, pieces of grass and debris quickly peppering the back of Kalila’s head as she shoves Johnny away. “What happened to your face?” he asks with the bluntness characteristic of his age, sword forgotten at his side. They’ll have to train that out of him. 

Sitting up, Kalila touches the ruin of her mouth. “I asked rude questions,” she snaps with her usual sarcasm, but softens it with a smile shortly after. Clarisse knows a chance when she sees one; Kalila’s distraction leaves a gap for her to find the flag. She sprints away, hearing Kalila scramble to get up and laughing to herself. The flag is within reach.  
+  
Clarisse is a storm, is the pounding feet of a battalion, is impossible to miss wherever she goes, boisterous and laughing. Kalila is a shadow who watches everything with her black eyes, fiddling with the piercings in her eyebrow. Clarisse loves her as she is, even when her siblings don’t understand and turn to Aphrodite’s louder, brighter children. 

Clarisse turns from the fire that’s glowing hot and pink, scorching her face, to gesture Kalila closer from where she lingers in the back. It’s been a good night, the hunt won, everyone satisfied, a little nectar passed around the fire. “Come sit with me,” Clarisse calls, watching as Kalila picks her way over, careful not to step on toes.

She goes into Clarisse’s lap when pulled, tugged over her thighs close and warm, Clarisse pressing her nose into the curve where neck meets shoulder. She bites once, gentle and quick; Kalila is not one for public displays of affection. Tonight, Kalila’s mouth twists in a lopsided smile, her head turning to brush a kiss over the bump in Clarisse’s nose from past breaks. Ares’ children are not made to be beautiful.

To their left, a cyclops trips into the fire and emerges seconds later, laughing and unharmed. Clarisse imagines that her happiness is making the fire flair just that little bit brighter as she holds Kalila close.


End file.
